Chapter 2
Leoric halted his step as the previously clear blue sky turned to an ominous dark crimson red. Of the sun&emdash;which was mostly visible through the canopy of the forest—only a deep orange halo remained, as if the moon had suddenly changed its position to form an eclipse. Deep rumbles and ancient murmurs filled the once quiet forest. Even though the there was no breeze or wind, the branches of the oaks and firs and birches almost seemed to move on their own. In fact they were, and they were no branches at all, they were withered arms and hands grasping at the air. Leoric began moving again, this time with a much quicker pace—or so he planned to—if it wasn’t for his feet slowly sinking into the ground. As he looked down he could see the once sturdy dirt forest floor had turned into a deep dark bog. Many bubbles floated to the surface and made feint popping noises when they burst, as if the ground was boiling. The awful smell of death and decay entered his nostrils, causing his stomach to turn and his throat to tighten. The many coloured leaves that once lined the ground so beautifully as forest do in the autumn months, had turned into severed limbs of all kinds. Hands, feet, paws, noses and other dreadful things.
His gaze went up again, slowly to the trees, eyes and smiling toothy mouths filled the bark of the trees around him. He tried to move again, but his legs had sunk much too far. The mouths all laughed at him as if his being unable to move entertained them. He tried to call for help, but found his mouth was unable to open, causing him to produce only some quiet hums that were easily overpowered by the laughter around him. His fingers traced his lips, he felt string, his lips had been sealed shut.
Several slimy appendages sprung up from the ground beside him and latched onto his arms, pulling him deeper into darkness below. Lower and lower he sank until he was neck-deep, his head cocked backwards a little so he could still breath. Once more he tried to call for help. He mustered all his strength and pulled as hard he could on the string holding his mouth shut, but he couldn’t break it.
Soon even his head disappeared into the deep bog. The laughter slowly grew quieter and quieter as he sank, until it was completely silent and his vision was black.
Leoric awoke in a cold sweat underneath the great oak he had chosen to rest under for the night. It took some time for him to catch his breath. He kept looking at the trees around and the floor beneath him, but none showed any indication of suddenly turning into the dreadful things that filled his dreams. Instead the forest he found himself in was rather peaceful. Birdsong filled the air and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, occasionally plucking one from a swaying branch and carrying it softly into the distance. It was the middle of autumn and the forest floor was filled with all kinds of shades and colours;browns and oranges and yellows and reds.
He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm and looked at the magical rune he had inscribed on his wrist many years ago. It had faded a little again, just like the day before. The rune was one of warding, specifically it was a combination of several different runes. One to ward against nightmares, one to ward ones waking sight against things that are not and one which is meant to ward against minor curses. Yes, meant to, for Leoric was cursed. But this curse was no minor curse at all as you have undoubtedly figured out already. A rune like this—one that incorporates three into one—was called a Triune, it was given that name by those that practice magic because it sounded rather like a combination of the words tri (meaning ‘three’) and rune. Rather a fitting name they thought. By combining runes their power coalesces, sometimes this means they will create a new effect all together, other times this means they simply become more effective at what they do. But this always increases the amount of magic required to cast or sustain it. Many folks that are able to use magic can only ever cast the simplest of runes: Priunes, which are single runes. These are usually your circus magicians making cards disappear, or the local fortune teller telling you your harvest will be bountiful. Others a little more skilled in magic are able to cast more advanced runes: Diunes, which are double runes. Used most often by alchemists in many a ritual and court-wizards in their daily duties to the noble house they serve.
Only those that are born into magic are able to cast Triunes. Yes, one does not have to be born with magical abilities to be able to use them. Many months of practice and study could make even the simplest of folk able to cast at the very least Priunes. But many don’t have access to either the knowledge or time to learn. And as such, magic is reserved for only those of more opulent dispositions.
Next to the Pri-s, Di-s and Tri-s there is one more class of runes. Logically it would only follow that one could add yet another rune to the pile, and this would be true: Tetrunes. These runes are the most anyone has ever been able to cast and live to tell the tale. Some have tried to cast Pentarunes, naught but ash and dust was left after their attempt.
Leoric rummaged through his pack and found his last few rations: some dried and salted meat. Not much for a breakfast, but it was all he had. He didn’t much like the taste of dried meat, he’d much rather be eating some tasty cooked or grilled meat instead. Sometimes he could, if there was anything around to hunt. While not a skilled hunter, with his magic he could often lure animals into a little more elaborate traps of illusionary food. And skilled in magic he was, a prodigy of sorts: he learned quick and had a large amount of natural aptitude towards magic. Although his teachers had expelled him from their school for being ‘too dangerous to trust with the knowledge of the arcane arts’. Breaking the rules was the actual reason, or so Leoric thought. He was never good at following rules, and didn’t much care for them. ‘Rules are meant to be tested,’ he thought, ‘how else are we going to figure out the limits of the world.’ He was adopted by this school of magic when he was only a little lad, how old he was he could not remember. Arca: the only school in the world that taught magic. Its name carried with it some respect, those who are chosen to go to Arca would often become great wizards and sorcerers. The ability to cast Triunes is often used synonymously with Arca, for only those born into magic are chosen. Before that he lived in an orphanage, his parents had left him there for his own safety. Of his parents, he knew nothing more than what the rather limited annals in the library of his school contained.
He learned enough of the arcane arts during his time at this school to continue his studies on his own through books and experimentation. But of the occult arts he learnt very little and as curses are part of that domain, he needed to find one skilled in the art to understand more about his curse and potentially how to remove it. He had heard a rumour not a few weeks ago that one might be living in the village he was currently travelling to.
Before long Leoric had finished chewing on his dried meat and hoisted is pack over his shoulders. Then he went off further through the forest. There was no path in these woods; travellers often opted for easier roads through the open fields and grassy hills where they could see trouble approaching easily. But Leoric felt pressed for time and—unlike the road—the forest cut straight through the land. His visions and nightmares had been growing stronger and more horrendous as of late; his warding rune was fading. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had run out of food too. If he did not make haste, there was no telling what might happen to him. And so he adopted a fast pace, as fast as he could over the cluttered forest floor and on a half-empty stomach. Despite the dark and sombre thoughts on his mind, the forest did not impede his travel much. Even the occasional hare or fox came to have a look to see who was passing through. ‘A human! How silly it looks, stomping around like that,’ the fox thought, finding Leoric’s walking far too loud and rather obnoxious.
Leoric walked for a few hours when a slight distance away the once rather tightly packed trees began to disperse. He had reached the forest’s end. In front of him—in the distance—he could see little trails of smoke rising up into the sky, beneath it the silhouette of a small village lined the horizon. Between him and the village lay a mostly flat green field. Closer to the village the grassy field was replaced with a golden farmland. The morning sun had already crept a ways up, sparkling like a polished coin in the radiant sky. Small silver-like dew drops laid softly on the blades of grass. The whole field twinkled like a bed of diamonds in the sunlight. The earlier breeze had shifted East into a carefree blustery, which sent large ripples flowing over the field. From here, the journey to the village would be an easy one.
Leoric peered along the edge of the farmland and spotted a small line where there grew nothing, leading all the way up to the village. After taking a moment to take in the scene that now laid before him, he set off once more, to the edge of the farmland.
Soon he reached it, the grasslands proved an easy trip. Sturdy ground beneath his feet allowed him to keep up the pace, but now the sound of his rumbling stomach made him realise how painfully hungry he was. The line he had seen earlier proved to be a small dirt path, barely wide enough for a cart, that meandered its way to the village—or so he thought. He was not far on the path when in the distance, through the tall stems of the corn plants came a loud voice: ‘Who goes there? You best not be trespassin’ on my turf without a good reason!’ Before Leoric had a chance to respond, a large man with a chubby but still muscular build stood before him. He wore brown overalls and a wool hat that covered his ears, a few dark brown strands of curly hair sprang out from under it. He looked to be in his fifties. His nose was almost bright red and he sniffled loudly, often followed by a loud swallow. The man held in his hands a large scythe, wet plants still sticking to its blade, he had been working hard from sunrise. After a waiting a while the man continued: ‘What is your here business, mister?’ he raised one of his bushy eyebrows.
‘I am here,’ Leoric said, ‘because I have heard a rumour about the person I’m looking for being present in this village. My journey was long and I have ran out of food, so I suppose I am here to restock as well.’ Almost as if on cue, his stomach rumbled.
The farmer let out hearty laugh, ‘So you’re travelling folk! And a hungry one at that! I see yous is no liar at least. What be the name if I may ask?’
‘Tell me yours and I shall tell you mine, good farmer.’
‘Very well. I am Owell Corngrower, friends call me Owie. Be you a friend, mister…?’
‘Leoric. And I should like to.’
‘Well ain’t that just a fancy name! And a friend you shall be, mister Leoric! Come now, I was just about to have lunch before you showed up. We shall have good bread, fresh milk and mayhaps you’d tell me a bit about your travels. We don’t get much news ’round here about the happenings elsewhere in the kingdom.’
Without waiting for a response the farmer set right off through the field. Leoric soon followed after him. After a few minutes they came upon a small stone house, the walls were made of large cobblestones held together by some sort of dried up paste, only interrupted by the occasional window shutter. Farming folk were much too poor to afford glass windows. They went inside, it was a warm, snug and inviting little house. A fire burned in the hearth and a large oak table was already set for eating. A woman just as large as the man came out from a doorway in the back with several plates of bread as well as a more than a few mugs. She looked over at Leoric, who shifted on his legs uneasily, and gave him—much to his relief—a warm smile. ‘One more mug and plate I see! Come, sit! Rest your weary legs,’ she pulled a chair from the nearby hearth towards the table and Leoric thankfuly sat down on it. Right before she disappeared once more to the back of the house she asked her husband to fetch the children from outside, who were hard at work in the fields.
Not long after the table was filled, three children showed up; two boys and one girl, the boys looked to be in their late teens. Owell and his wife sat opposite each other at either end of the table, with the children and Leoric in between; two on either side. They ate and drank merrily and much inquired Leoric about his travels. He had not much to tell them, as he had only been travelling for a few weeks and so far his road had been rather uneventful. Of his dreams and visions—and his curse—he told them nothing. Their line of questioning soon came to his business here in the village: ‘So, mister Leoric, when earlier we spoke you said you were lookin’ fer someone. Who might yous be lookin’ fer?’
Leoric staid quiet for a while, deciding whether to tell his newfound friends about his true goal. They all waited patiently, except for the old farmer: ‘Well? I don’t suppose yous have forgotten their name now have ye?’
‘I haven’t… At least, I wouldn’t be able to, you see. I don’t know their name, in fact I don’t even know if this person actually exists at all. I came here on a rumour,’ he finally said shamefully.
Owell chuckled loudly, ‘Yous came ‘ere on a rumour! Yous are mighty interesting, indeed. And what, if I may ask, did this rumour say?’
‘It told of a witch living in this village.’ When Leoric spoke those words it fell suddenly silent in the small home, even the fire seemed to stopped crackling for a moment.
Finally the woman spoke up: ‘I know this isn’t none of my business, but if I may be so forward, why might you be looking for a witch? I don’t think you need me to tell you that they are a dark and ominous folk; not to be trusted. Curses and hexes they cast on you. Make your crops wither and your milk taste sour. Some say they can even see and speak to the dead.
‘Just a few days ago old Mayfield said he’d been cursed! “I can’t turn right no more!” he says to me. And he couldn’t, with my own two eyes I saw it. If you know what’s good for you, mister, you stay far away from their kind.
‘But talk of witches and magic excites folks, so talk about it they do. Your journey must have worn your feet and legs, you should stay for supper and we have a spare bed you may rest in for the night.’
After that the farmer and his sons went back to work on the fields and the wife and daughter cleaned the table and soon disappeared into different rooms. Leoric was left all alone and sat snugly on a large wooden chair by the hearth, resting his weary legs. He thought long about his curse and figured he should renew his rune sooner rather than later. But for now he would relax and let his worries fade away.
Supper came sooner than expected and they had a merry time; ale was plentiful, the meat was tender and juicy and the potatoes sweet. The old man Corngrower even burst out in song!Ale and beer and mead and wine,Drink thUI exports 3 pagination-related comem all, drink to the day,And you shall have a merry time,For worries and sorrow shall fade away,If only you drink and drink in plenty,Then you will surely live long and healthy!
After much of the food and more was eaten and drank, the family quickly cleared the table and the children and mother went soon to bed. Old Corngrower and Leoric sat in silence by the hearth, the old man was smoking a pipe. Soon the room was filled with a low-hanging cloud of smoke and the smell of sweet tobacco. Then the old farmer spoke to Leoric: ‘Don’t mind what my wife said earlier, she isn’t too fond of sorcerous folk. From the moment I laid eyes on yous I could see there was something troubling yous. I will not ask yous to explain, but I can tell yous a bit about this rumour yous heard. It is no rumour at all! There is a witch living not too far, in a cabin near the forest to the North. She comes to our village about once a month and she helps us farmin’ folk with our troubles. She’s cured a few of my cows and even made my corn taste sweeter! And that story about that curse is not to be believed. The old Mayfield has always been a queer chap, always had a great distrust of anything magic. “It ain’t natural,” he used to say.
‘A few years ago one of his pregnant sheep had fallen ill, and the witch had tried to cure it—and she did, but she couldn’t save its child. However much the old Mayfield may believe it had to do with magic, no sorcery had caused that. The poor animal was too close to death already, nothing close to a miracle could have saved it. He still blames her for that and sometimes pulls these queer stunts in an attempt to make us believe she is evil at heart.
‘I have met her a few times, she has a good heart and a kind soul. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless it hurt her first. Which is fair methinks, eye for an eye and all that. But I think yous might be in luck, if I am not mistaken. I believe she will come here ‘morrow, it has been a little over a month since her last visit.’
Leoric thanked the old farmer for the information and they spoke a little more about the other stunts the old Mayfield had pulled. He seemed to be quite a lively fellow, even for his old age. After a good while of talking the old Corngrower showed Leoric his room and they wished each other goodnight. For the first time in a while, Leoric’s dreams were merry and pleasant.